City of Joyful Dread

I caught a fever, a holy fire

Month: November, 2011

West Turns

fucking slums
fucking bums

funeral homes with clocks of ash

beyond Rangoon
the metonymous West
that tars the tenement moon

like a moment wasted

awake alive or never

we are coming to the red eye,
we are coming to the clockwork New York

Photo courtesy of H. Wechsler.

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On Writing & Coffee, #1

INTERVIEWER

What is your writing schedule now?

HOUELLEBECQ

I wake up during the night around one a.m. I write half-awake in a semi-conscious state. Progressively, as I drink coffee, I become more conscious. And I write until I’m sick of it.

INTERVIEWER

Do you have other requirements for writing?

HOUELLEBECQ

Flaubert said you had to have a permanent erection. I haven’t found that to be the case. I need to take a walk now and then. Otherwise, in terms of dietary requirements, coffee works, it’s true. It takes you through all the different stages of consciousness. You start out semicomatose. You write. You drink more coffee and your lucidity increases, and it’s in that in-between period, which can last for hours, that something interesting happens.

–Michel Houellebecq, quoted in the Fall 2010 Paris Review

The Ballad of Kenn Kweder

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everyone’s a blur
No one remembers who you were
No one really cares
Bob Dylan or Pierre Robert

The bard of South Street tarred & cowered
Your flower hour now deflowered

Born in ’52
Buddy Holly, Bob Beru
Never were a star
Just Grendel’s Lair & MMR

Troubadour or psychedelic
Mod or rocker or old relic

Everyone’s a bore
No one remembers a rock’n’roll whore
You & Bob Beru
Captain Noah & Tattoo

Photo courtesy of http://www.soundcityusa.com/soundcityusa-gallery-people/gallery-people.html.

Flowers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

nobody knows me like I know myself
I enjoy flowers, like everybody else

nobody knows me like I know myself
I enjoy flowers, like everybody else

watch her move when she walks out the door
watch her dance when she’s on the dance floor
maybe a silhouette, maybe more
watch her move when she walks out the door

& when I’m drunk, my intentions are wrong
I haunt the bars like I don’t belong
she wants me not but I want her badly
I want to be king but I love her madly

nobody loves me like I love myself
I enjoy flowers, like everybody else

nobody loves me like I love myself
I enjoy flowers, like everybody else

Photo courtesy of: 
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bathroom_voyeurism_1.jpg